If you ever find yourself in need of a few hours of soul-depleting frustration, make your way to India’s new airport terminal.

T3 in Delhi has some things in common with other international airports. It looks pretty much like any major airport in any major city, barring a few exceptions. There are lines at security and the immigration officials don’t smile much. It also has many things in common with other establishments in the country that are supposed to carry some semblance of order. Indeed, for the most part it’s not that different than the experience at any other Indian airport – except this one has been billed as being state-of-the art.

Call it a model of Indian inefficiency. And be sure to eat before you arrive.

I arrived three-and-a-half hours before my late-night flight at 12:45 a.m., planning to take my time in duty free and tour the new digs to write about it for this blog. Things would turn out…differently.

The agents at the desk didn’t yet have the passenger lists, so they couldn’t issue boarding passes or check luggage. It wasn’t till about 10p.m., later than the agents promised, that the lists arrived and passengers could queue to check in.

Note to self: When in India, splurge on business class.

After being assigned to my requested window seat, I headed for immigration. Typically, I pride myself in my ability to pick the fastest-moving immigration line and I am constantly alert to the possibility of a new counter opening.

On this night I failed miserably. I watched the other counters cycle through at least five travelers before the man in front of me was cleared. Then the official in my lane wheeled his chair over to his colleague’s desk for a spell.

Eventually, he checked my documents and I was allowed to leave the country. Next stop, security.

The men and women charged with this post have the most important job in the airport. I respect that they have a lot of responsibility and sometimes have to deal with unruly individuals. But I also believe they should exercise a high level of diligence while moving people through as quickly as possible. Call me crazy.

The lines in this area were short, with what I thought was an adequate number of lanes open. There were 10 people in the longest line. Yet it would be over an hour before I cleared this hurdle.

Does not compute? Tell me about it. We women were directed to a separate line and quickly I realized this line was only getting longer. One by one, the women were called to walk through the metal detector marked “Ladies” and into a curtained area. Inside, you stand on a platform and the female security agent scans you with a wand. While I waited, several women waved to their male companions on the other side of security. They wouldn’t be reunited for some time.

The level of ineptitude was boggling. One man was tasked with moving bags along the belt and into the X-ray machine. He moved bags out of order. When it was finally my turn to walk into the screening area, my bags were still on the other side of the machine, out of sight.

One woman was tasked with watching the X-ray screen but she was instead preoccupied with two questionable cans of food brought to her by a colleague. Bags passed through the machine while she was turned away.

Then there’s the man whose job appears to involve watching bags emerge from the machine. He stamped some but not all of the bags that came out of the machine. I would learn that the stamped tags are proof a bag has been screened and would be required later (it would be nice if they explained that to international travelers who are most likely having their first brush with Indian airport security procedures).

Through security. Flabbergasted. Hungry. Tired. I passed through duty-free without stopping. The food court signs lead me upstairs where the best choice was McDonald’s chicken nuggets. The buffet at the top of the escalator was serving what looked like day-old food, and I wasn’t in the mood for a flaky pastry shimmering with grease or mystery noodles. What I really wanted was some fruit. There’s no fruit. The orange juice I gulped down was more sugar than juice.

After stumbling to my gate and devouring my chicken nuggets as quickly as possible, it was time to board. Join another line, walk down the ramp.

“Where are your tags?”

I was accosted by a man who demanded to see all of my tags for my bags. It was at this point that I learned the purpose of the man with the stamp and luggage tags. I had no tags. Only tagless bags.

He looked in my laptop bag and handed me a tag. I’d had enough, so I shoved the tag into a bag and walked off. I pretended not to notice him protest about more tags. There was one more check at the plane door, the purpose of which I have very little recollection.

Perhaps none of this sounds that astonishing to anyone who has flown out of any airport in India. But this is the long-awaited T3, which is supposed to showcase that modern India can deliver best-in-class infrastructure, with the help of privatization.

Finally, I boarded the plane, feeling like I deserved a T-shirt: “I survived T3 and all I got was this stupid shirt!”

I’ll wear it proudly when I return for the Commonwealth Games!

On the most basic criteria (my plane took off and, yes, on time), T3 works. It would even sparkle if it weren’t for all the dirt on the already cracking tiles. And it’s true that many new airports have teething troubles. But can we go back to T2 now?

If the brains behind IGI hope to get this airport up to par, I offer these suggestions:

- Clearly mark the airline check-in counters at curbside. Right now there are signs outside for domestic and international departures, but you can’t see where your airline counter is located until you enter the building.

- Offer two screening choices for women, please! Either behind a curtain or in the open. I’d hate to be in the sort of line I was in during peak traffic times.

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